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Cemeteries were visited and flowers were placed on head stones this weekend.

One of the ones visited is very tiny and sits on a small rise surrounded by miles of agricultural land with fields of wheat, canola, and alfalfa. That is where my husband's late sister rests. The scent of alfalfa blooms waft in the breeze over the dusty markers inside a chain-link fence. It isn't your normal manicured grave site. It's just dirt.

She began showing signs of something being not right soon after she turned 50. We noticed that she couldn't remember the rules of our Saturday night card games. Her symptoms progressed causing her to loose her job working for an accountant. She tried working at lesser jobs, but she couldn't keep up with any of them. She would ride her bike to the store and forget why she was there. She might wake up in the morning and find all of her kitchen towels and oven mitts on her patio. A difficult thing for us to handle was how she became suspic…

I am a grandmother, a wife, a mother, a sister, and a friend.
I know that a woman who will tell her age or her weight will tell anything. I won't tell mine, so you can trust me. I have a cat. I have a duster that I don't use.
The photo header is one I have taken of Gram's antique writing desk. My dust.